((Ryuhei Sasagawa continued from Peace Village))
Ryuhei spent the remainder of the evening keeping to himself, making a token appearance around dinner but otherwise brushing off any attempts to engage in conversation. He had a lot on his plate that night, thoughts that he'd been mulling over ever since the Kiriyama Family left the barn.
They had all congregated at a big family home, one that reminded Ryuhei a lot of the kind of house his grandparents lived in. Quaint and traditional, with thin paper sliding doors and a simplistic wooden interior. He managed to secure a room for himself, and whilst he probably would have complained about having to sleep on a dusty mattress a couple days ago, it was a far cry from the louse-riddden haypile where he slept the previous night.
For a brief moment he could almost convince himself that he was just on holiday in the country, staying with gramps and grandma in a boring little house that hadn't been updated in over a hundred years. But it didn't take much to remind him of where he was, especially when he found out the hard way that the plumbing wasn't working when he visited the bathroom. He bet those assholes at the school got the water to work there, probably even had their own catering crew and everything, the bastards.
Still, despite the relative comfort of his new bed, he could barely sleep that night. He spent most of it staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking over the previous two days' events, pondering over everything they had gone through up to this point. It was hardly the bombastic adventure he had conjured up back at the northern cliffs, with the family going on a tear kicking ass and taking names, showing everyone who was boss. No, things hadn't gone that way at all, had they? Instead it was just humiliation after messy humiliation, a broken nose and a near constant stream of put downs from his supposed teammates. And as he lay there, thinking this all over, there was one thought that resonated strongly. One that he'd been chewing on for a while now...
Mitsuru was holding them back.
They had the potential to be an absolute unit, to take out everyone on this island who so much as looked at them funny, and what were they doing? Chumming it up with some fucking hippy, having a little circlejerk whilst hoping everything just kinda worked out on their own? Bullshit. He knew damn well this shit was going to end in tragedy one way or another, that those big government bozos wouldn't think twice about just offing the lot of them if they refused to play ball. They should have taken advantage of Shuuya's blind optimism by putting a bullet between his big pretty boy eyes, but instead they were going soft.
No, Mitsuru was going soft. He was going to get them all killed, just like how he almost got himself killed saving Shuuya's ass back at the classroom. And unless he did something about it, the bastard was going to take him and Hiroshi down with him.
Only question was, WHAT exactly was he going to do about it?
He pondered over every possibility long into the early morning, not settling on an answer by the time his eyes finally drifted shut and he fell asleep, only to be awoken a mere hour later by the announcement. He almost fell right back asleep halfway through it, when one name in particular woke him right the fuck back up.
Sho... Sho was dead. Sho was fucking dead.
He had assumed at this point that he was just gonna show up any moment now, to prove that he'd been there all along. But... No... He'd gone off, ditched them for real and gotten himself killed. It was one thing hearing the names of his classmates listed off so half-heartedly when they started getting picked off, but to hear Sho's among them... He was his friend. Sure, he was always a bit... Eccentric, but he was one of the Family! He was an oddball, but he was THEIR oddball, damnit!
Tears began to well up in his eyes, his chest tightening as he began to grit his teeth. If Sho had been with them, if they had done things HIS way instead of meandering about like a bunch of fucking pussies, he might be alive right now! They could've been there to look out for him, go on the offensive, take out anyone who could've threatened their spot as the island's biggest badasses! But no, they had laid low like gutless cowards, and as a result one of their own was six feet under. He bet Mitsuru was going to somehow blame his death on him as well, the fucker.
That settled it, then. One way or another, Mitsuru had to go. Hiroshi and himself had been doing all the hard work anyway, and he bet that left unshackled they could easily take out every other mother fucker on this island. They should have gone on the warpath right from the start, committed to hunting down the rest of their classmates full throttle. They would have been unstoppable. They still could be, but first, they needed to get rid of their weakest link.
Ryuhei wiped his tears and reached out for his bag, opening it up to rummage through it's contents for a bottle of water. He took out the spare one he took from Yuko's bag, opened the top and took a long swig to calm himself down. It was when he was in the middle of putting it back that he noticed the small white vial from the other day, picking it up to give it a closer examination. His eyes would widen with shock as he read the label:
HYDROCYANIC ACID (CYANIDE): POISON - UNDETECTABLE
He'd gulp.
And then he'd think, long and hard.
He'd look down at the half-empty bottle of water in his hands. Then back at the vial. Then back at the bottle.
Wordlessly, he'd slowly swivel the bottle lid open again, then carefully open the vial before pouring the cyanide inside. He'd then put the top back on and give the bottle a shake, mix it up real nice, before checking to see how it looked. You could hardly tell the difference.
Water bottle in hand, he'd get up from where he sat and start making his way to the lounge, to join up with the rest of the group.
Peace Village: Brother's Blood
Alternatively known as Devil's Border
Moderator: BRAU2 Director
Peace Village: Brother's Blood
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
Hiroshi had misgivings about this idea, but he'd give them this; they found a nice place to crash. It was nicer than any place they've been to so far, that was for sure, and it looked nicer than most places he's ever been to. Though he would not admit it openly, he was happy for a place that at least seemed like it was good against the weather outside.
He stuck around the lounge for the most part, and there were attempts at small talk with Nanahara and Kuninobu, but it only showed the issue they were not alike nor similar in ideas to him or Ryuhei, maybe Mitsuru considering how much he'd been talking up this idea, but not them. It made the whole thing awkward enough that Ryuhei actually kept his mouth shut, which Hiroshi thought only the boss was able to get him to do.
Probably helped that he fucked off to his own room after a while. Hiroshi was tempted to follow, but he settled for going out into the hall and leaning against the wall. If the guy wanted to be alone, then let him; they'd been around each other a bit too much.
Surely enough, this moment of relaxation was interrupted by the announcements. It was time to learn who else had died in the meanwhile. Plenty of them were girls from the sounds of it, but there were only two names of those that he cared to hear.
Yuka and Haruka. Hiroshi struggled to swallow after hearing that, remembering that look on Haruka's face as she laid down on the ground after he shot her. The only relief was the lack of killers being named, or they would be in deep shit.
But it did not take long for him to wish that they would tell them who did it after the next person listed.
Sho was dead. Hiroshi had tried not to think that possibility ever since he disappeared from them, but reality had hit him in the face, and it was a real bitch of a hit to take. There were many more that had died, but his mind glazed over them as his mind replayed those words over and over again. Sho was dead. Dude could be a cocky little freak at times, but damn it, he'd rather have him cover his back than most of his classmates, that was for goddamn sure.
That left only the three of them... and the boss. They were lucky that he was still out there now that they were down a man, but they had no idea where he was, though unlike most of them, he had brains and a shotgun, and he knew what to do. All they had to do was find him, but where to look? Fuck if he had a clue, or if he could get help from Mitsuru now that he's gotten what he wants.
Speaking of Mitsuru, where the fuck was he? This whole thing was his shit of an idea so he better still be around.
Hiroshi folded his arms with his back still to the wall, his breathing labored from what he had heard, and it was not like he could talk to Nanahara about it; he did not want empty feel-good words that would not fix the problem or whatever Kuninobu would say about it either.
So, he stayed out in the hall by himself. It was still outside the lounge, but, you know, not inside it. He needed room to move a bit, to stretch and feel like he was not being suffocated being in the same room as those two.
"Ey." He said to the approaching figure of Ryuhei, finally deciding show up; Hiroshi did not make eye contact outside his eyes, briefly looking towards him, twitching a bit. To avoid that, he kept looking at the wall.
"Where have you been?"
He stuck around the lounge for the most part, and there were attempts at small talk with Nanahara and Kuninobu, but it only showed the issue they were not alike nor similar in ideas to him or Ryuhei, maybe Mitsuru considering how much he'd been talking up this idea, but not them. It made the whole thing awkward enough that Ryuhei actually kept his mouth shut, which Hiroshi thought only the boss was able to get him to do.
Probably helped that he fucked off to his own room after a while. Hiroshi was tempted to follow, but he settled for going out into the hall and leaning against the wall. If the guy wanted to be alone, then let him; they'd been around each other a bit too much.
Surely enough, this moment of relaxation was interrupted by the announcements. It was time to learn who else had died in the meanwhile. Plenty of them were girls from the sounds of it, but there were only two names of those that he cared to hear.
Yuka and Haruka. Hiroshi struggled to swallow after hearing that, remembering that look on Haruka's face as she laid down on the ground after he shot her. The only relief was the lack of killers being named, or they would be in deep shit.
But it did not take long for him to wish that they would tell them who did it after the next person listed.
Sho was dead. Hiroshi had tried not to think that possibility ever since he disappeared from them, but reality had hit him in the face, and it was a real bitch of a hit to take. There were many more that had died, but his mind glazed over them as his mind replayed those words over and over again. Sho was dead. Dude could be a cocky little freak at times, but damn it, he'd rather have him cover his back than most of his classmates, that was for goddamn sure.
That left only the three of them... and the boss. They were lucky that he was still out there now that they were down a man, but they had no idea where he was, though unlike most of them, he had brains and a shotgun, and he knew what to do. All they had to do was find him, but where to look? Fuck if he had a clue, or if he could get help from Mitsuru now that he's gotten what he wants.
Speaking of Mitsuru, where the fuck was he? This whole thing was his shit of an idea so he better still be around.
Hiroshi folded his arms with his back still to the wall, his breathing labored from what he had heard, and it was not like he could talk to Nanahara about it; he did not want empty feel-good words that would not fix the problem or whatever Kuninobu would say about it either.
So, he stayed out in the hall by himself. It was still outside the lounge, but, you know, not inside it. He needed room to move a bit, to stretch and feel like he was not being suffocated being in the same room as those two.
"Ey." He said to the approaching figure of Ryuhei, finally deciding show up; Hiroshi did not make eye contact outside his eyes, briefly looking towards him, twitching a bit. To avoid that, he kept looking at the wall.
"Where have you been?"
The silence of the rooftop pounded loudly in Yoshitoki's ears, filling up his ear canal, whispering through his eardrum, and hammering directly on his brain. His eyelids felt like twenty-pound weights, trying to force themselves shut over his reddened, sleep-deprived eyes. However, his willpower, paranoia, or both proved to be a championship weightlifter, holding his eyelids open for yet another minute. He hadn't slept a wink, though not for a lack of trying. He really wanted some shut-eye, but after his brain screamed at him that there could be hostile intruders for the 300th time, he realized sleeping was futile. Shuya's announcement had only seemed to draw Kiriyama's boys initially, but who else could it have drawn? Since the announcements only listed who died and nothing about who'd killed them, everyone who showed up could be a murderer. The only way anyone else would ever know was through a witness or the killer's confession. So what if one of them was attracted by the radio and decided to lay waste to the Peace Village as they slept? Yoshitoki knew that an uncharacteristic paranoia had seeped into his brain, but the threat felt so real that he'd gotten up from his resting place and hiked up to the roof.
He stayed there for hours, until the sun crept over the horizon, but he saw nobody approach. The silence of the island was deafening. Unfortunately for him, the announcements soon shattered that silence, and a pang of dread tore through his heart. Sho had died. The first member of Kiriyama's gang had fallen to the island. Shit. Shit, that really wasn't good. That was certainly going to rile up the boys, and Yoshitoki dreaded the notion of having to calm a gang of delinquents over their comrade's death. Fuck.
Yoshitoki worked his way down the stairs that led him to the roof, going as fast as he could for someone with his level of exhaustion. He went through the front door, muttering a barely audible "good morning" to Shuya as he ambled into the spacious lounge and flopped on the couch.
"Shuya..." Yoshitoki tried to say more, but the hoarseness in his voice alerted him to how thirsty he was. He opened a water bottle and chugged about a quarter of it before putting it down. "Sho was on the announcements. This is gonna be..."
Yoshitoki trailed off as movement caught his attention. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear in the forms of Sasagawa and Kuronaga storming through the hall that lead to the lounge. It seemed that they were wide awake.
"...a major fucking shitshow," he continued. The only person who hadn't shown his face yet was Numai. He pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing back at Shuya.
"You ready to calm down the Kiriyama boys?"
He stayed there for hours, until the sun crept over the horizon, but he saw nobody approach. The silence of the island was deafening. Unfortunately for him, the announcements soon shattered that silence, and a pang of dread tore through his heart. Sho had died. The first member of Kiriyama's gang had fallen to the island. Shit. Shit, that really wasn't good. That was certainly going to rile up the boys, and Yoshitoki dreaded the notion of having to calm a gang of delinquents over their comrade's death. Fuck.
Yoshitoki worked his way down the stairs that led him to the roof, going as fast as he could for someone with his level of exhaustion. He went through the front door, muttering a barely audible "good morning" to Shuya as he ambled into the spacious lounge and flopped on the couch.
"Shuya..." Yoshitoki tried to say more, but the hoarseness in his voice alerted him to how thirsty he was. He opened a water bottle and chugged about a quarter of it before putting it down. "Sho was on the announcements. This is gonna be..."
Yoshitoki trailed off as movement caught his attention. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear in the forms of Sasagawa and Kuronaga storming through the hall that lead to the lounge. It seemed that they were wide awake.
"...a major fucking shitshow," he continued. The only person who hadn't shown his face yet was Numai. He pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing back at Shuya.
"You ready to calm down the Kiriyama boys?"
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B15: SHŪYA NANAHARA - CONTINUED FROM "Peace Village"
Shūya looked a little more distant than he had before. His eyes were a little more vacant and less focused than usual; the bright spark that characterized them remained but a little dimmer than it had once.
[I'm so tired...]
He looked out at Yoshitoki as the other boy entered the room and gave him a little, half-hearted wave. He smiled, too, but it too seemed a little empty. He hadn't slept well last night. The deaths of the previous days still loomed heavy over his mind. It was almost unreal to him; the idea that they were truly gone forever had begun to sink in.
[...I feel like I could drift away...]
At times, Shūya could almost swear he heard them in the distance, their voices and their footsteps echoing, or saw them just around the corner. It reminded him of when Eddie—the dog they'd kept as a pet at the Charity House—died in fourth grade, and he'd sworn up and down that he still heard him barking at night, still saw him scampering around on the edge of his vision.
[...into that abyss below.]
It hurt so much, and it would never stop hurting. Last night, he couldn't sleep well, all because of that; he was too busy thinking about the past or fretting about the future. At that time, he'd wondered what other friends of his would be on the announcements. He pondered if it would be Hirono Shimizu, the girl with whom he'd shared that moment under the bleachers, or Noriko Nakagawa (Female Student No. 15), Yoshitoki's crush whose cookies still lay in his daypack. The thought depressed and worried him immensely, so he tried not thinking about it anymore, which was easier to say than to do.
In the end, though, his worst fears had not come to pass, but the results still stung him. Many people had still died, and for nothing but the supposed good of the Republic of Greater East Asia—and every time he thought of that name, he damned it—and the stupid however-many dictators and that bastard Sakamochi.
Izumi Kanai (Female Student No. 5), who had been wealthy but never arrogant, and Satomi Noda (Female Student No. 17), who he'd tried to be friendly toward, had died. Yuka Nakagawa (Female Student No. 16) had died, and he remembered all the times she'd made him laugh. He wondered for a brief moment if all of this was some cruel, twisted joke; if so, it was the furthest he could find from funny. It didn't make him want to laugh; it made him want to cry or scream.
Yuko Sakaki (Female Student No. 9) was also dead, and he wished she'd let him know her better. Haruka Tanizawa (Female Student No. 12) was also dead now, and she was an athlete like him. Yoji Kuramoto (Male Student No. 8) had passed on, and he wondered if Yoshimi—who he knew was Hirono's friend and Yoji's partner—was holding up okay. Mitsuko Souma (Female Student No. 11) was dead too, and though he did not know her, it saddened him; such a death must have felt, to Hirono, like Shinji's death had to him.
And then it was Sho Tsukioki (Male Student No. 14), the last name on that God-forsaken list. Shūya knew the implications; a member of the Kiriyama Family had died, and he knew the others wouldn't take it well. How could they take such a thing well, after all? Sho was their friend, and everyone mourned their friends.
In the end, though none of his friends had died, Shūya felt as awful as he had the day before; his heart was full of little people-shaped holes. He'd tried to distract from the matter by taking care of his hygiene; he'd brushed his teeth using some of the bottled water, a packet of toothpaste—very minty—found in the bathroom, and a toothbrush he'd brought for the trip. He also washed his body and cleaned his hair with the other supplies he'd found during his search of the bathroom, and it made him feel a little better, but not that much better.
[Oh, uh, let's get back on track, shall we?]
Shūya was currently on the couch, tired and sad but cleaner than before, and his breath smelled vaguely of mint. Yoshitoki was also there, as previously stated. Two members of the Kiriyama Family—Ryuhei and Hiroshi—had been hanging around, and Mitsuru had been outside, taking a smoke.
He looked at Yoshitoki, who confidentially whispered to him; still, he didn't understand the worry. He trusted their new comrades. Sure, Ryuhei was a wild card, and Hiroshi was a little distant, but Mitsuru had saved his life; he could trust them, he was sure.
"Yeah, I know," he said, in the same cadence as Yoshitoki, "I think it'll be okay, though."
He paused for a moment, considering his words. He didn't want to set Yoshitoki on edge, but he didn't want to spark anything with the Kiriyama Family by accident.
"I mean, them losing Sho, it'll hurt," he said, "I say we don't push them too hard, give them some room to grieve. He was their friend, you know?"
He paused again and looked out into the distance, away from Yoshitoki. The images of the Third Man still danced in his head, a reminder of the ones he'd lost.
"Everyone mourns their friends," he murmured, glancing downward, "everyone."
Shūya looked a little more distant than he had before. His eyes were a little more vacant and less focused than usual; the bright spark that characterized them remained but a little dimmer than it had once.
[I'm so tired...]
He looked out at Yoshitoki as the other boy entered the room and gave him a little, half-hearted wave. He smiled, too, but it too seemed a little empty. He hadn't slept well last night. The deaths of the previous days still loomed heavy over his mind. It was almost unreal to him; the idea that they were truly gone forever had begun to sink in.
[...I feel like I could drift away...]
At times, Shūya could almost swear he heard them in the distance, their voices and their footsteps echoing, or saw them just around the corner. It reminded him of when Eddie—the dog they'd kept as a pet at the Charity House—died in fourth grade, and he'd sworn up and down that he still heard him barking at night, still saw him scampering around on the edge of his vision.
[...into that abyss below.]
It hurt so much, and it would never stop hurting. Last night, he couldn't sleep well, all because of that; he was too busy thinking about the past or fretting about the future. At that time, he'd wondered what other friends of his would be on the announcements. He pondered if it would be Hirono Shimizu, the girl with whom he'd shared that moment under the bleachers, or Noriko Nakagawa (Female Student No. 15), Yoshitoki's crush whose cookies still lay in his daypack. The thought depressed and worried him immensely, so he tried not thinking about it anymore, which was easier to say than to do.
In the end, though, his worst fears had not come to pass, but the results still stung him. Many people had still died, and for nothing but the supposed good of the Republic of Greater East Asia—and every time he thought of that name, he damned it—and the stupid however-many dictators and that bastard Sakamochi.
Izumi Kanai (Female Student No. 5), who had been wealthy but never arrogant, and Satomi Noda (Female Student No. 17), who he'd tried to be friendly toward, had died. Yuka Nakagawa (Female Student No. 16) had died, and he remembered all the times she'd made him laugh. He wondered for a brief moment if all of this was some cruel, twisted joke; if so, it was the furthest he could find from funny. It didn't make him want to laugh; it made him want to cry or scream.
Yuko Sakaki (Female Student No. 9) was also dead, and he wished she'd let him know her better. Haruka Tanizawa (Female Student No. 12) was also dead now, and she was an athlete like him. Yoji Kuramoto (Male Student No. 8) had passed on, and he wondered if Yoshimi—who he knew was Hirono's friend and Yoji's partner—was holding up okay. Mitsuko Souma (Female Student No. 11) was dead too, and though he did not know her, it saddened him; such a death must have felt, to Hirono, like Shinji's death had to him.
And then it was Sho Tsukioki (Male Student No. 14), the last name on that God-forsaken list. Shūya knew the implications; a member of the Kiriyama Family had died, and he knew the others wouldn't take it well. How could they take such a thing well, after all? Sho was their friend, and everyone mourned their friends.
In the end, though none of his friends had died, Shūya felt as awful as he had the day before; his heart was full of little people-shaped holes. He'd tried to distract from the matter by taking care of his hygiene; he'd brushed his teeth using some of the bottled water, a packet of toothpaste—very minty—found in the bathroom, and a toothbrush he'd brought for the trip. He also washed his body and cleaned his hair with the other supplies he'd found during his search of the bathroom, and it made him feel a little better, but not that much better.
[Oh, uh, let's get back on track, shall we?]
Shūya was currently on the couch, tired and sad but cleaner than before, and his breath smelled vaguely of mint. Yoshitoki was also there, as previously stated. Two members of the Kiriyama Family—Ryuhei and Hiroshi—had been hanging around, and Mitsuru had been outside, taking a smoke.
He looked at Yoshitoki, who confidentially whispered to him; still, he didn't understand the worry. He trusted their new comrades. Sure, Ryuhei was a wild card, and Hiroshi was a little distant, but Mitsuru had saved his life; he could trust them, he was sure.
"Yeah, I know," he said, in the same cadence as Yoshitoki, "I think it'll be okay, though."
He paused for a moment, considering his words. He didn't want to set Yoshitoki on edge, but he didn't want to spark anything with the Kiriyama Family by accident.
"I mean, them losing Sho, it'll hurt," he said, "I say we don't push them too hard, give them some room to grieve. He was their friend, you know?"
He paused again and looked out into the distance, away from Yoshitoki. The images of the Third Man still danced in his head, a reminder of the ones he'd lost.
"Everyone mourns their friends," he murmured, glancing downward, "everyone."
Mitsuru stepped inside, bottle in hand. He didn't know what else to do. Everyone was dying off, one by one, every night. Each day it gets harder and harder to hold out and hope things will work out. He knew waiting around wasn't working. He hoped Shuya would have had more people with him.
Maybe this was a farce after all. He tossed the bottle onto his bag and sat down. He buried his head in his hands. Disgusting as they were he needed another cigarette already. He couldn't think.
Where was the boss, where was the others?
He lifted his head.
"Shuya. We need more people here. What we got isn't enough."
Maybe this was a farce after all. He tossed the bottle onto his bag and sat down. He buried his head in his hands. Disgusting as they were he needed another cigarette already. He couldn't think.
Where was the boss, where was the others?
He lifted his head.
"Shuya. We need more people here. What we got isn't enough."
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
"Keeping your mom company, where else?" Ryuhei would reply, forcing a light chuckle as he continued down the corridor.
He'd stop just before the lounge's entrance, slumping back against the wall opposite Hiroshi with his hands firmly in his jacket pockets. He pondered in that moment whether he should let Hiroshi in on his little plan, give him a heads up before the shit hit the fan. The guy was pretty much the only friend he had left on the island, and unlike a certain someone he had little doubt that he'd be game for doing things his way instead of sitting on their asses.
Then again, if he was so sure Hiroshi would be on board, why do it the way he was planning to at all? The only reason he was considering something so cowar... So underhan... So cunning was because he wasn't 100% sure where Hiroshi's loyalties lay. He liked to think that they were on the same page, that if he tried to talk him into pulling off a coup that they would have a manly handshake and that was that. But if he wasn't? If he gave the game away and Hiroshi turned him down, then that would be it wouldn't it? His one shot would go up in smoke, shortly followed by himself.
No. He couldn't take that risk, not when his... Their life was on the line. The only way he could guarantee Hiroshi's loyalty was if he could convince him that Shitstain and Nobhead were out to get them, that they were the ones responsible for what was about to happen to Mitsuru. And with the bottle of water in his hand, he knew just how to pull that off without Hiroshi being none the wiser.
"I.. I still can't fuckin' believe that Sho's really..." he'd begin, only to stop himself as he turned back to the open doorway, a slight shudder going down his spine as he turned back to Hiroshi. "Look, between you and me... I don't trust either of those jackoffs, something about all this... It's rubbing me the wrong way, you feel me?"
He'd keep his voice low, double checking to make sure nobody else was listening in before turning back to look Hiroshi dead in the eyes. "Just so you know, however things play out... Know that I've got your back, alright?"
On that note, after a brief pause to let Hiroshi react however he pleased, he'd turn away and take a deep breath before entering the lounge. He'd glance up to survey the scene, spotting Shuya, Nobu and Mitsuru all sitting neatly in a row together, a messy assortment of items littered on the coffee table in front of them, including from the look of things a water bottle just within Mitsuru's reach.
Ryuhei would try to play it cool as he approached, a bead of on his brow as he strolled over and sat back in a big chair just opposite the trio. Mitsuru was going on about how they needed more people, just another reason why he had to go ASAP before he got them all killed. The plan was simple after all: Swap out Mitsuru's water bottle with the one in his hands, then blame what happens next on the pair of preaching hippies. Hiroshi's loyalty would be assured, and Mitsuru would finally get what he deserved for treating him like garbage all these years.
But first things first, he needed to swap those bottles, and fortune would smile upon him when Shuya started doing another of his little friendship speeches. With everyone distracted, he casually reached out and swapped them over, pocketing Mitsuru's bottle and leaving his own on the table right where it was left. Sho wasn't the only one of them who had a talent for sleight of hand, after all, and from the look of things everyone was too busy seeing what Shuya had to say to spot his little switcharoo. Now he just had to sit back and wait for Mitsuru to take a sip, then it would all be over.
By the time it occurred to him that might not have been Mitsuru's bottle, it was already too late.
He'd stop just before the lounge's entrance, slumping back against the wall opposite Hiroshi with his hands firmly in his jacket pockets. He pondered in that moment whether he should let Hiroshi in on his little plan, give him a heads up before the shit hit the fan. The guy was pretty much the only friend he had left on the island, and unlike a certain someone he had little doubt that he'd be game for doing things his way instead of sitting on their asses.
Then again, if he was so sure Hiroshi would be on board, why do it the way he was planning to at all? The only reason he was considering something so cowar... So underhan... So cunning was because he wasn't 100% sure where Hiroshi's loyalties lay. He liked to think that they were on the same page, that if he tried to talk him into pulling off a coup that they would have a manly handshake and that was that. But if he wasn't? If he gave the game away and Hiroshi turned him down, then that would be it wouldn't it? His one shot would go up in smoke, shortly followed by himself.
No. He couldn't take that risk, not when his... Their life was on the line. The only way he could guarantee Hiroshi's loyalty was if he could convince him that Shitstain and Nobhead were out to get them, that they were the ones responsible for what was about to happen to Mitsuru. And with the bottle of water in his hand, he knew just how to pull that off without Hiroshi being none the wiser.
"I.. I still can't fuckin' believe that Sho's really..." he'd begin, only to stop himself as he turned back to the open doorway, a slight shudder going down his spine as he turned back to Hiroshi. "Look, between you and me... I don't trust either of those jackoffs, something about all this... It's rubbing me the wrong way, you feel me?"
He'd keep his voice low, double checking to make sure nobody else was listening in before turning back to look Hiroshi dead in the eyes. "Just so you know, however things play out... Know that I've got your back, alright?"
On that note, after a brief pause to let Hiroshi react however he pleased, he'd turn away and take a deep breath before entering the lounge. He'd glance up to survey the scene, spotting Shuya, Nobu and Mitsuru all sitting neatly in a row together, a messy assortment of items littered on the coffee table in front of them, including from the look of things a water bottle just within Mitsuru's reach.
Ryuhei would try to play it cool as he approached, a bead of on his brow as he strolled over and sat back in a big chair just opposite the trio. Mitsuru was going on about how they needed more people, just another reason why he had to go ASAP before he got them all killed. The plan was simple after all: Swap out Mitsuru's water bottle with the one in his hands, then blame what happens next on the pair of preaching hippies. Hiroshi's loyalty would be assured, and Mitsuru would finally get what he deserved for treating him like garbage all these years.
But first things first, he needed to swap those bottles, and fortune would smile upon him when Shuya started doing another of his little friendship speeches. With everyone distracted, he casually reached out and swapped them over, pocketing Mitsuru's bottle and leaving his own on the table right where it was left. Sho wasn't the only one of them who had a talent for sleight of hand, after all, and from the look of things everyone was too busy seeing what Shuya had to say to spot his little switcharoo. Now he just had to sit back and wait for Mitsuru to take a sip, then it would all be over.
By the time it occurred to him that might not have been Mitsuru's bottle, it was already too late.
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
Yoshitoki was far too exhausted to notice any subtle changes that may have been going on with the water bottle. He'd pulled an unwilling all-nighter for God's sake. Could he really be blamed for failing to notice that the bottle's cap was crooked? Could he be blamed for not noticing the very light bluish tint that the water had taken on? Even if he wasn't exhausted out of his mind, his regular self probably couldn't have caught on to the signs anyway. They were small, so hidden the dense overgrowth of sleep deprivation that finding them would have required him to actively search for them, something that he just couldn't do.
So, he didn't do that.
Instead, he reached for the water bottle that he thought was his own, ignored the burgeoning conversation around him, and took a hearty swig, downing about a quarter of the bottle in one go. It was some damn fine water, he thought.
All of a sudden, he found himself unable to breathe properly. In just a few more moments, he'd toppled onto the floor, hyperventilating as his vision swam around him. Good lord, what had happened? Everything just started moving so quickly and so slowly at the same time, his mind being unable to focus on what was happening in the present, totally unaware of the mounting chaos that was about to spread forth.
So, he didn't do that.
Instead, he reached for the water bottle that he thought was his own, ignored the burgeoning conversation around him, and took a hearty swig, downing about a quarter of the bottle in one go. It was some damn fine water, he thought.
All of a sudden, he found himself unable to breathe properly. In just a few more moments, he'd toppled onto the floor, hyperventilating as his vision swam around him. Good lord, what had happened? Everything just started moving so quickly and so slowly at the same time, his mind being unable to focus on what was happening in the present, totally unaware of the mounting chaos that was about to spread forth.
His hands tightened their hold on his arms as Ryuhei's response to his greeting came with a mom joke. He quickly tried to come up with a comeback.
My mom would rather sleep with an animal than you. No, too on the nose; my mom's got better taste than that... she wouldn't go for someone with that face? Shit, time was wasting, and he did not have the retort at the ready when Ryuhei got close and started talking about trust.
Outwardly, Hiroshi kept quiet. He kept his eyes on the wall. It was a nice wall, but he could see the tiny cracks that had formed; he started counting them to himself for a bit. A nice bit of distraction for himself.
What was there to say with these guys so close, anyway?
He sure did not trust these guys, not as much as he trusted Ryuhei despite his fuck-ups. They were still members of the Kiriyama family as much as Mitsuru seemed to forget so he could futz around. He wanted to think that he could still trust the guy, but he got the sense that he cared more for this plan with Shuya and co than them, like, fuck, Sho is dead, fucking Sho out of everybody went out first, and the boss is gone. He might have a shotgun at hand, but was that enough after being gone for days?
Why are they fucking around here playing revolutionaries when they could arm up and get as far as they can stick together? Was it a play or genuine?
He grimaced after the mention of Sho, still was a stab in the back. That, if anything else, cinched the deal for him.
Whatever it was, maybe he'll make a case later to him. If that doesn't work. Maybe he'll just grab Ryuhei, and they both go to find the boss. Seems more sensible than this.
"I trust you too, man." He gave a nod to the clear trust between him and Ryuhei and followed him into the lounge where the other three were already in place. H
Hiroshi sat opposite them, more focused on what was on the table for a brief bit as he sat down; viewing all the items that lay on it. That was before Shuya started going a speech, and Hiroshi inwardly sighed at this. Sure, he paid attention to what he was saying, but it wasn't like there was anything else in the room when he was sucking up all the oxygen talking up all this shit.
He picked up his bottle and was about to drink it, that was until Kuninobu fell over. Hiroshi dropped his bottle in his surprise onto the table, his wide eyes staring holes into the boy.
Did he just have a heart attack or something? What the fuck?
My mom would rather sleep with an animal than you. No, too on the nose; my mom's got better taste than that... she wouldn't go for someone with that face? Shit, time was wasting, and he did not have the retort at the ready when Ryuhei got close and started talking about trust.
Outwardly, Hiroshi kept quiet. He kept his eyes on the wall. It was a nice wall, but he could see the tiny cracks that had formed; he started counting them to himself for a bit. A nice bit of distraction for himself.
What was there to say with these guys so close, anyway?
He sure did not trust these guys, not as much as he trusted Ryuhei despite his fuck-ups. They were still members of the Kiriyama family as much as Mitsuru seemed to forget so he could futz around. He wanted to think that he could still trust the guy, but he got the sense that he cared more for this plan with Shuya and co than them, like, fuck, Sho is dead, fucking Sho out of everybody went out first, and the boss is gone. He might have a shotgun at hand, but was that enough after being gone for days?
Why are they fucking around here playing revolutionaries when they could arm up and get as far as they can stick together? Was it a play or genuine?
He grimaced after the mention of Sho, still was a stab in the back. That, if anything else, cinched the deal for him.
Whatever it was, maybe he'll make a case later to him. If that doesn't work. Maybe he'll just grab Ryuhei, and they both go to find the boss. Seems more sensible than this.
"I trust you too, man." He gave a nod to the clear trust between him and Ryuhei and followed him into the lounge where the other three were already in place. H
Hiroshi sat opposite them, more focused on what was on the table for a brief bit as he sat down; viewing all the items that lay on it. That was before Shuya started going a speech, and Hiroshi inwardly sighed at this. Sure, he paid attention to what he was saying, but it wasn't like there was anything else in the room when he was sucking up all the oxygen talking up all this shit.
He picked up his bottle and was about to drink it, that was until Kuninobu fell over. Hiroshi dropped his bottle in his surprise onto the table, his wide eyes staring holes into the boy.
Did he just have a heart attack or something? What the fuck?
-
Dogs231
- Posts: 608
- Joined: Mon Oct 12, 2020 6:45 pm
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- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Shūya had launched into a rousing speech in response to the arrival of the others; he talked at length about the need to work together and recruit others to their worthy cause and the value of school spirit. At the time, he'd thought it sounded rather good, but as it continued, he realized that it might have amounted to sleep-deprived ramblings.
"...and that's why," he said, with a final flourish, "we can't give up. As classmates, we'll stand together and overthrow this regime."
In truth, he wasn't quite sure about that sentiment; his doubts had set in, and he now wondered if he was the savior the others had set him up to be. Sure, he could belt out impassioned speeches, but by no means was he the sharpest tool in the shed; that was always Shinji or Kiriyama's thing. He was good at some classes—English, the humanities, literature— but never mathematics or the sciences.
[If I'm the only hope they've got, well...]
His mind went to dark places at once, blood splatters and explosions. Yoshitoki would nod as the others watched, and he'd start poking at the collar. Then, he'd drive a wedge between the front of the collar and the sides; the three Kiriyama family members—Hiroshi, Ryuhei, Mitsuru—biting their nails on the sidelines. He tries to pry the collar open, and there's some beeping, then an explosion, then another, then another, and then another. And then there's Shūya, the fearless leader, right before the last pop of the device around his neck.
[...no, I can't think like that.]
[That sort of thinking, that negativity? It's a poison...]
[...after all, a shark dies if it stops swimming, right?]
In short, he was in a crisis of confidence; Shūya wanted, so desperately, to be that shining hero they seemed to need, but he wasn't sure he could live up to that expectation. Revolution was full-circle, he knew; at any moment, his world could spin upside-down. Still, he didn't want to—no, he wouldn't—give up. If they wanted him to fight, he'd step into the ring.
He reclined on the couch, thinking, where he remained for only a few brief seconds of respite; it was good to relax, and his vocal cords needed a rest from all the singing, shouting, and speaking in general. He looked over at Yoshitoki—who had just taken a sip from what Shūya wrongfully assumed was his bottle of water—as if to ask for his support.
The other boy collapsed onto the floor. Shūya immediately rushed to his side, filled with concern; he'd never seen Yoshitoki collapse like this before. His best friend was hyperventilating, struggling to breathe. It took him by surprise, right out of the left field.
Shūya's mind, addled by tiredness, went to a single place; this was betrayal, he thought. His eyes drifted towards the gun at Yoshitoki's side, but his brain still resisted, desperate to stay true to Sugimura's non-violent example. Ultimately, he looked back at the others, holding his friend, eyes full to the brim with hurt and fear. He tried to speak, but the words didn't come out.
"Someone—" he said and then interrupted himself, "—one of you did something, didn't you!"
His blood brother, his comrade-in-arms, now lay gasping for breath on the tatami mat; the others glanced about nervously, suspiciously. His fury grew, only dwarfed by his fear for Yoshitoki; he cradled the other boy gently, shook him lightly, and whispered in his ear.
"Nobu, come on," he murmured, "stay with me, alright? I won't let you go..."
[...if I did, I'd slip away...]
"...and that's why," he said, with a final flourish, "we can't give up. As classmates, we'll stand together and overthrow this regime."
In truth, he wasn't quite sure about that sentiment; his doubts had set in, and he now wondered if he was the savior the others had set him up to be. Sure, he could belt out impassioned speeches, but by no means was he the sharpest tool in the shed; that was always Shinji or Kiriyama's thing. He was good at some classes—English, the humanities, literature— but never mathematics or the sciences.
[If I'm the only hope they've got, well...]
His mind went to dark places at once, blood splatters and explosions. Yoshitoki would nod as the others watched, and he'd start poking at the collar. Then, he'd drive a wedge between the front of the collar and the sides; the three Kiriyama family members—Hiroshi, Ryuhei, Mitsuru—biting their nails on the sidelines. He tries to pry the collar open, and there's some beeping, then an explosion, then another, then another, and then another. And then there's Shūya, the fearless leader, right before the last pop of the device around his neck.
[...no, I can't think like that.]
[That sort of thinking, that negativity? It's a poison...]
[...after all, a shark dies if it stops swimming, right?]
In short, he was in a crisis of confidence; Shūya wanted, so desperately, to be that shining hero they seemed to need, but he wasn't sure he could live up to that expectation. Revolution was full-circle, he knew; at any moment, his world could spin upside-down. Still, he didn't want to—no, he wouldn't—give up. If they wanted him to fight, he'd step into the ring.
He reclined on the couch, thinking, where he remained for only a few brief seconds of respite; it was good to relax, and his vocal cords needed a rest from all the singing, shouting, and speaking in general. He looked over at Yoshitoki—who had just taken a sip from what Shūya wrongfully assumed was his bottle of water—as if to ask for his support.
The other boy collapsed onto the floor. Shūya immediately rushed to his side, filled with concern; he'd never seen Yoshitoki collapse like this before. His best friend was hyperventilating, struggling to breathe. It took him by surprise, right out of the left field.
Shūya's mind, addled by tiredness, went to a single place; this was betrayal, he thought. His eyes drifted towards the gun at Yoshitoki's side, but his brain still resisted, desperate to stay true to Sugimura's non-violent example. Ultimately, he looked back at the others, holding his friend, eyes full to the brim with hurt and fear. He tried to speak, but the words didn't come out.
"Someone—" he said and then interrupted himself, "—one of you did something, didn't you!"
His blood brother, his comrade-in-arms, now lay gasping for breath on the tatami mat; the others glanced about nervously, suspiciously. His fury grew, only dwarfed by his fear for Yoshitoki; he cradled the other boy gently, shook him lightly, and whispered in his ear.
"Nobu, come on," he murmured, "stay with me, alright? I won't let you go..."
[...if I did, I'd slip away...]
What the fuck?!
Mitsuru watched as Nobu collapsed, confused. Did he choke over water? No, this wasn't your average choking- this was-
He stood up. His heart was pounding. What the fuck was going on? Was this Shuuya's plan? Was this a mistake, what this whole thing some big suicidal Jonestown trap? Was- Was he next, were they all next?
Shuya was the first to run to Nobu. He screamed at the Kiriyama family, blamed them- It wasn't-
It wasn't him.
Nobu was fine five seconds ago. Then Ryuhei walked past him, walked past-
It was-
"It was me..."
"It was meant for-"
"It was meant for me..."
Kuninobu was going to die, he was going to die, and it was all his fault, because he thought- he trusted-
Mitsuru made a lot of promises. He promised Akamatsu the Kiriyama family would leave him alone, that all he had to do was the right thing, and they'd fight this game. He promised the Kiriyama family that he'd do everything in his power to get ALL of them out. He promised Kiriyama that he'd take care of the crew. He promised Shuya and Kuninobu that the family was here to help.
He lied. All of them, Mitsuru was made a liar. All because of Ryuhei...
He made a promise to Ryuhei too. He promised he'd give him another chance; and Mitsuru promised what he'd do if Ryuhei fucked up like that again.
Mitsuru was shaking; red faced. His hands clenched.
"Ryuhei you dirty cocksu-"
He lunged for his bag by his feet.
Mitsuru watched as Nobu collapsed, confused. Did he choke over water? No, this wasn't your average choking- this was-
He stood up. His heart was pounding. What the fuck was going on? Was this Shuuya's plan? Was this a mistake, what this whole thing some big suicidal Jonestown trap? Was- Was he next, were they all next?
Shuya was the first to run to Nobu. He screamed at the Kiriyama family, blamed them- It wasn't-
It wasn't him.
Nobu was fine five seconds ago. Then Ryuhei walked past him, walked past-
It was-
"It was me..."
"It was meant for-"
"It was meant for me..."
Kuninobu was going to die, he was going to die, and it was all his fault, because he thought- he trusted-
Mitsuru made a lot of promises. He promised Akamatsu the Kiriyama family would leave him alone, that all he had to do was the right thing, and they'd fight this game. He promised the Kiriyama family that he'd do everything in his power to get ALL of them out. He promised Kiriyama that he'd take care of the crew. He promised Shuya and Kuninobu that the family was here to help.
He lied. All of them, Mitsuru was made a liar. All because of Ryuhei...
He made a promise to Ryuhei too. He promised he'd give him another chance; and Mitsuru promised what he'd do if Ryuhei fucked up like that again.
Mitsuru was shaking; red faced. His hands clenched.
"Ryuhei you dirty cocksu-"
He lunged for his bag by his feet.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
SHIT!
SHIT!
SHITSHIT, CUNTING SHITFUCK, SHIT!!!
Ryuhei was lost for words, his mouth agape as Nobu gulped down the tainted water intended for Mitsuru. He hesitated too long to stop him, unable to think of a way of doing so without blowing his cover. He was so busy focusing on what he was going to say to convince Hiroshi that Shuya had betrayed them, that he was completely blindsided when the wrong bastard went and drank the fucking poison.
He'd look up at Mitsuru, their eyes meeting and his expression betraying him. He never had that great a poker face to begin with, and after getting thrown for a loop he had no hope in hell of convincing Mitsuru of his innocence. There was a short pause as they all looked at each other, Shuya glancing at Nobu's gun, Hiroshi reaching for his own, and Mitsuru glaring right into his fucking soul.
The moment Mitsuru dived for his bag, Ryuhei would tug his gun from his pants and pull the trigger twice, scrambling away without even checking to see if he hit his mark. He'd make a crazed dash for the hallway, hoping to get back to his room and grab his bag before getting the hell out of dodge.
He only made it halfway down the corridor before he felt a bullet clip his shoulder, crying out in pain as he stumbled forward and crashed right through the thin paper wall of his bedroom, landing in a crumbled heap on the floor. He'd writhe and clutch his arm, blood pouring freely from both it and his bandaged nose, before rolling onto his back to see Mitsuru baring down on him. He'd whip his gun up and fire twice again, scrambling backwards as another bullet whizzed past and cracked a hole in the window behind him. Seeing a potential exit, he would get up and force himself to dive through it, shattering the glass and landing outside with a pained yowl.
His face and wrist were covered in deep cuts and embedded with sharp shards, though he was unable to stop for long before forcing himself back onto his feet and stumbling away. He'd turn back and fire an errant shot back towards the window, limping away through the back garden before disappearing around the corner.
He'd slump against a wall once he was out of sight, panting and dragging himself along, leaving a long bloody trail as he grit his teeth. He had to get away, had to regroup and figure something out! He wasn't going to die here, not like this! Not when he still had a shot!
He'd turn a corner and stumble down a narrow alleyway, hoping to find somewhere to hide... But instead he was met with a brick wall and a closed door, that despite his best efforts was locked shut.
NO! NONONONO!
There were a series of footsteps, Ryuhei turning back to see Mitsuru waiting for him. In an instant, he'd raise his gun and pull the trigger.
Click.
Click, click, click.
He's let out a guttural growl and pathetically fling the gun in Mitsuru's direction, clawing at his hair as he paced from side to side, looking more like a cornered animal than a young man. He'd then turn back to Mitsuru, a forlorn look in his eyes as he began to speak.
"I... I never wanted it to end like this..." he'd begin, gripping his injured arm tightly as he began to snarl at Mitsuru. "I wanted us to tear this island a new one, rule the fucking roost just like we did at home, not... Sit around on our asses waiting to be picked off one by one!"
He couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that point, looking up at Mitsuru with a shrug. "But I mean... It was always gonna end like this, wasn't it? Let's be fucking real for a second: Only one of us is going home. I know it, The Boss sure as hell knows it, Sho probably fuckin' knew it as well... And don't fucking tell me you don't know it either, cause otherwise you're an even dumber motherfucker than I am."
He'd puff out his chest, arms spread wide as he continued. "We're in a Battle Royale, BITCH! Survival of the fucking fittest! And you have two choices: Play ball, or eat shit. And I'm done eating shit! Done letting you all push me around, treating me like an idiot, when I'm the only guy here who remembers who we are!"
It was at that point that all his anger and bravado began to give way to anguish, tears welling in his eyes as his voice began to break.
"We could of fucking taken over this island! Could have lived like kings, taken out anyone who so much as looked at us funny! Now look at us! So fucking pathetic..."
It wasn't entirely clear at that point if he was referring to the family with that last remark, or just himself as he slumped to his knees with a pitiful expression on his face.
"So go ahead and pull the trigger, you fucking pussy! Man the fuck up already! If you can't do that, after everything that's happened... You're as good as fucking dead, too."
SHIT!
SHITSHIT, CUNTING SHITFUCK, SHIT!!!
Ryuhei was lost for words, his mouth agape as Nobu gulped down the tainted water intended for Mitsuru. He hesitated too long to stop him, unable to think of a way of doing so without blowing his cover. He was so busy focusing on what he was going to say to convince Hiroshi that Shuya had betrayed them, that he was completely blindsided when the wrong bastard went and drank the fucking poison.
He'd look up at Mitsuru, their eyes meeting and his expression betraying him. He never had that great a poker face to begin with, and after getting thrown for a loop he had no hope in hell of convincing Mitsuru of his innocence. There was a short pause as they all looked at each other, Shuya glancing at Nobu's gun, Hiroshi reaching for his own, and Mitsuru glaring right into his fucking soul.
The moment Mitsuru dived for his bag, Ryuhei would tug his gun from his pants and pull the trigger twice, scrambling away without even checking to see if he hit his mark. He'd make a crazed dash for the hallway, hoping to get back to his room and grab his bag before getting the hell out of dodge.
He only made it halfway down the corridor before he felt a bullet clip his shoulder, crying out in pain as he stumbled forward and crashed right through the thin paper wall of his bedroom, landing in a crumbled heap on the floor. He'd writhe and clutch his arm, blood pouring freely from both it and his bandaged nose, before rolling onto his back to see Mitsuru baring down on him. He'd whip his gun up and fire twice again, scrambling backwards as another bullet whizzed past and cracked a hole in the window behind him. Seeing a potential exit, he would get up and force himself to dive through it, shattering the glass and landing outside with a pained yowl.
His face and wrist were covered in deep cuts and embedded with sharp shards, though he was unable to stop for long before forcing himself back onto his feet and stumbling away. He'd turn back and fire an errant shot back towards the window, limping away through the back garden before disappearing around the corner.
He'd slump against a wall once he was out of sight, panting and dragging himself along, leaving a long bloody trail as he grit his teeth. He had to get away, had to regroup and figure something out! He wasn't going to die here, not like this! Not when he still had a shot!
He'd turn a corner and stumble down a narrow alleyway, hoping to find somewhere to hide... But instead he was met with a brick wall and a closed door, that despite his best efforts was locked shut.
NO! NONONONO!
There were a series of footsteps, Ryuhei turning back to see Mitsuru waiting for him. In an instant, he'd raise his gun and pull the trigger.
Click.
Click, click, click.
He's let out a guttural growl and pathetically fling the gun in Mitsuru's direction, clawing at his hair as he paced from side to side, looking more like a cornered animal than a young man. He'd then turn back to Mitsuru, a forlorn look in his eyes as he began to speak.
"I... I never wanted it to end like this..." he'd begin, gripping his injured arm tightly as he began to snarl at Mitsuru. "I wanted us to tear this island a new one, rule the fucking roost just like we did at home, not... Sit around on our asses waiting to be picked off one by one!"
He couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that point, looking up at Mitsuru with a shrug. "But I mean... It was always gonna end like this, wasn't it? Let's be fucking real for a second: Only one of us is going home. I know it, The Boss sure as hell knows it, Sho probably fuckin' knew it as well... And don't fucking tell me you don't know it either, cause otherwise you're an even dumber motherfucker than I am."
He'd puff out his chest, arms spread wide as he continued. "We're in a Battle Royale, BITCH! Survival of the fucking fittest! And you have two choices: Play ball, or eat shit. And I'm done eating shit! Done letting you all push me around, treating me like an idiot, when I'm the only guy here who remembers who we are!"
It was at that point that all his anger and bravado began to give way to anguish, tears welling in his eyes as his voice began to break.
"We could of fucking taken over this island! Could have lived like kings, taken out anyone who so much as looked at us funny! Now look at us! So fucking pathetic..."
It wasn't entirely clear at that point if he was referring to the family with that last remark, or just himself as he slumped to his knees with a pitiful expression on his face.
"So go ahead and pull the trigger, you fucking pussy! Man the fuck up already! If you can't do that, after everything that's happened... You're as good as fucking dead, too."
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
The rounds that whizzed over his head the second he moved confirmed his suspicions. Ryuhei wanted Mitsuru gone. That poison was meant for him, but Nobu was the one who had to suffer in his place. All because Mitsuru wanted to cover for his friends, to cover for Ryuhei, and this was how he repaid him. He couldn't even blame Ryuhei anymore, this was all his fault. If you got a sick dog mauling everyone in the neighborhood, there's only one thing you could do with it before it hurt someone else.
Only one thing to do.
Ryuhei was that sick dog.
The clap of the magnum reverberated through the room. Mitsuru made a promise, and the sick dog fell. He lowered the gun and began to walk forward. He had to know. He had to know why. Ryuhei rolled over and fired at Mitsuru, causing him to duck down and tuck himself behind a nearby corner. When he heard Ryuhei scramble to his feet, Mitsuru peeked, and fired back, the round going wide, punching itself through a nearby window. Ryuhei followed the bullet outside.
Mitsuru followed, stopping at the broken window. He used the barrel of the revolver to smash out the glass at the bottom of the window still before climbing through, shouting out.
"Ryuhei you traitor fuck! You're dead you fuckin' rat!"
He climbed through, looking to his left, and to his right. He couldn't see shit until he looked down, saw the errant red droppings Ryuhei had left behind. Mitsuru followed it, leading to an alley, and the trapped mutt that leaked it. Ryuhei raised the gun, and Mitsuru flinched, only to hear the click, followed by more clicks. Mitsuru sighed in relief, and exasperation. His eyelid twitched.
"It's over Ryuhei. You're finished. Just stop and take it like a man."
"For once in your life, just be a man..."
He wasn't sure who he was talking to when Mitsuru raised the gun as Ryuhei spoke. He should've shot him then and there, but he had to listen. He had to know why.
Mitsuru wanted to know what changed Ryuhei so badly. Why his friend wanted him dead, wanted everyone dead. He explained what he wanted. Tried to excuse it. Battle Royale. One goes home. One big club everyone was in on except for Mitsuru...
He was grasping. From how one person could survive to the Kiriyama family taking over the island, ruling it like their own little dynasty for all of what? A week? Three days tops?
Ryuhei was right. This was pathetic, they all were. And then the moment of truth came.
Ryuhei was ready. He'd face what was coming to him. This was it then.
It was time for Mitsuru to put down this rabid dog once and for all.
It was time for Mitsuru to put down his friend. He felt sick. He had to do it. For Nobu. Haruka and Yuko. Akamatsu. For their chances of getting out of here. If Ryuhei hadn't fucked it all, they could've-
"There didn't have to be just one going home. You get that right? Why I saved Shuya in that damned classroom. Why I didn't kill Akamatsu after I fought him off. Why I told him we wouldn't fuck with him so long as he did the right thing? All those people that died, dead because of you, would be here with us right now. We'd have had a chance at making it out of here. There never had to be just one going home, because if it came to that, it wouldn't have been either of us."
Squeeze the trigger. Do it. He's a rabid dog. He's a murderer, a coward, a killer. He never cared. Ryuhei was never your friend.
He was.
Only one thing to do.
Ryuhei was that sick dog.
The clap of the magnum reverberated through the room. Mitsuru made a promise, and the sick dog fell. He lowered the gun and began to walk forward. He had to know. He had to know why. Ryuhei rolled over and fired at Mitsuru, causing him to duck down and tuck himself behind a nearby corner. When he heard Ryuhei scramble to his feet, Mitsuru peeked, and fired back, the round going wide, punching itself through a nearby window. Ryuhei followed the bullet outside.
Mitsuru followed, stopping at the broken window. He used the barrel of the revolver to smash out the glass at the bottom of the window still before climbing through, shouting out.
"Ryuhei you traitor fuck! You're dead you fuckin' rat!"
He climbed through, looking to his left, and to his right. He couldn't see shit until he looked down, saw the errant red droppings Ryuhei had left behind. Mitsuru followed it, leading to an alley, and the trapped mutt that leaked it. Ryuhei raised the gun, and Mitsuru flinched, only to hear the click, followed by more clicks. Mitsuru sighed in relief, and exasperation. His eyelid twitched.
"It's over Ryuhei. You're finished. Just stop and take it like a man."
"For once in your life, just be a man..."
He wasn't sure who he was talking to when Mitsuru raised the gun as Ryuhei spoke. He should've shot him then and there, but he had to listen. He had to know why.
Mitsuru wanted to know what changed Ryuhei so badly. Why his friend wanted him dead, wanted everyone dead. He explained what he wanted. Tried to excuse it. Battle Royale. One goes home. One big club everyone was in on except for Mitsuru...
He was grasping. From how one person could survive to the Kiriyama family taking over the island, ruling it like their own little dynasty for all of what? A week? Three days tops?
Ryuhei was right. This was pathetic, they all were. And then the moment of truth came.
Ryuhei was ready. He'd face what was coming to him. This was it then.
It was time for Mitsuru to put down this rabid dog once and for all.
It was time for Mitsuru to put down his friend. He felt sick. He had to do it. For Nobu. Haruka and Yuko. Akamatsu. For their chances of getting out of here. If Ryuhei hadn't fucked it all, they could've-
"There didn't have to be just one going home. You get that right? Why I saved Shuya in that damned classroom. Why I didn't kill Akamatsu after I fought him off. Why I told him we wouldn't fuck with him so long as he did the right thing? All those people that died, dead because of you, would be here with us right now. We'd have had a chance at making it out of here. There never had to be just one going home, because if it came to that, it wouldn't have been either of us."
Squeeze the trigger. Do it. He's a rabid dog. He's a murderer, a coward, a killer. He never cared. Ryuhei was never your friend.
He was.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
He really didn't get it, did he?
Even now, Mitsuru was still in denial about their situation. Still believed they had a hope in hell of escaping this island together, even after half the class had already bitten the dust. He couldn't be that dense, could he? Surely he had to realise that kind of thinking was only gonna get himself killed in the end?
Then again... Maybe there was some truth to it? Maybe if he hadn't gone gung ho from the get go, then people like Akamatsu might of... NO! NO! FUCK YOU! Don't fucking doubt yourself now, you PISSANT! You're Ryuhei Sasa-fuckin-gawa! ACT LIKE IT!
Firing himself up, he'd get back on his feet and take a step forward, that last point of Mitsuru's in particular striking a nerve. "AND WHY NOT, HUH?!? Did you really have so little faith in us that you'd rather trust that dumbass Shuya? After he nearly got your ass killed?!?"
He could sense the hesitation in Mitsuru's eyes, see that he was struggling to work up the courage to put him down. He really didn't have it in him, did he? Even after all that, he still couldn't bring himself to do what needed to be done.
Well, who was he to complain? He still had an ace tucked into his belt, so why give up now when Mitsuru was so willing to throw his own life away...
"When are you gonna wake up and realise that there is NO ESCAPE! NONE!!! It's kill or be killed, and if you lack the balls to get your hands dirty... Then do me a favour and DROP FUCKING DEAD!!!"
It was on that note that Ryuhei tugged the sickle from his belt - Akamatsu's sickle - and made a mad dash down the alleyway towards Mitsuru. He made it halfway down before the muzzle of Mitsuru's gun flashed, and he felt something white-hot impact with his face.
And yet, he still kept going, only stumbling slightly as he fought through the pain. The bullet had torn through his left cheek and ear, the agony unimaginable, but in his frenzied state Ryuhei ignored it and swung that sickle. With a single maddened swipe he managed to slice at Mitsuru's hand, causing him to drop the gun and back away from the crazed swings Ryuhei was making with his blade, crying out in anguished fury like the rabid dog he was.
At some point he felt the blade of his sickle sink into flesh and scrape against bone, unsure where he struck before tugging it back and trying to stab him again, dozens of memories flashing before Ryuhei's eyes of the many times Mitsuru had belittled him in the past.
He remembered when they first met, when Mitsuru kicked the shit out of him to prove who the toughest guy in school was.
He remembered all the times Mitsuru put him down whilst they were on the island, giving him lip and reminding him of all his mistakes.
He remembered the time he got his ass kicked trying to steal Mitsuru a fresh batch of cigarettes, only to find out they were the wrong brand.
He remembered the time when Mitsuru saved his ass when he got cornered by some thugs from outside town.
He remembered when they took over that bowling alley for the boss, how he returned the favour by bottling a mother fucker who almost jumped Mitsuru from behind.
He remembered the time Mitsuru brought over a bottle of whisky he stole, and they celebrated by drinking the lot in one night.
He remembered... SSshank!
Ryuhei gasped, his eyes widening and face going pale, a sharp and intense pain deep in his chest. He'd glance downwards, realising then that in all the chaos, Mitsuru had managed to pull his dagger out and sink it between his ribs.
In that moment, all the hate and anger in his eyes began to dissipate, the hand clinging onto that sickle weakening as it slipped from his wrist. For the first time in a while, that inner voice of his that had been goading him on all this time had nothing to say. No point in false bravado at this point, not like it ever did him any good to begin with.
He'd slump his head forward against Mitsuru's chest, his legs giving up on him as he reached up to grip his brother's shoulder, coughing blood before slowly looking up at him.
"Hh... Heh, th-that wasn't so hard now... Was it?" he'd stutter, forcing a weak smile before coughing again, his tight grip of Mitsuru's shoulder loosening as he slumped down to his knees. He'd take another deep, gargled breath, spitting blood onto the floor before then slumping onto his side, laying sprawled on the ground with a slowly growing puddle of crimson forming around his crumpled form.
His chest heaved as he breathed his last few breaths, his vision fading, eyes staring blindly into the sky... And then, the life left him.
B10 - RYUHEI SASAGAWA - DECEASED
15 STUDENTS REMAIN
Even now, Mitsuru was still in denial about their situation. Still believed they had a hope in hell of escaping this island together, even after half the class had already bitten the dust. He couldn't be that dense, could he? Surely he had to realise that kind of thinking was only gonna get himself killed in the end?
Then again... Maybe there was some truth to it? Maybe if he hadn't gone gung ho from the get go, then people like Akamatsu might of... NO! NO! FUCK YOU! Don't fucking doubt yourself now, you PISSANT! You're Ryuhei Sasa-fuckin-gawa! ACT LIKE IT!
Firing himself up, he'd get back on his feet and take a step forward, that last point of Mitsuru's in particular striking a nerve. "AND WHY NOT, HUH?!? Did you really have so little faith in us that you'd rather trust that dumbass Shuya? After he nearly got your ass killed?!?"
He could sense the hesitation in Mitsuru's eyes, see that he was struggling to work up the courage to put him down. He really didn't have it in him, did he? Even after all that, he still couldn't bring himself to do what needed to be done.
Well, who was he to complain? He still had an ace tucked into his belt, so why give up now when Mitsuru was so willing to throw his own life away...
"When are you gonna wake up and realise that there is NO ESCAPE! NONE!!! It's kill or be killed, and if you lack the balls to get your hands dirty... Then do me a favour and DROP FUCKING DEAD!!!"
It was on that note that Ryuhei tugged the sickle from his belt - Akamatsu's sickle - and made a mad dash down the alleyway towards Mitsuru. He made it halfway down before the muzzle of Mitsuru's gun flashed, and he felt something white-hot impact with his face.
And yet, he still kept going, only stumbling slightly as he fought through the pain. The bullet had torn through his left cheek and ear, the agony unimaginable, but in his frenzied state Ryuhei ignored it and swung that sickle. With a single maddened swipe he managed to slice at Mitsuru's hand, causing him to drop the gun and back away from the crazed swings Ryuhei was making with his blade, crying out in anguished fury like the rabid dog he was.
At some point he felt the blade of his sickle sink into flesh and scrape against bone, unsure where he struck before tugging it back and trying to stab him again, dozens of memories flashing before Ryuhei's eyes of the many times Mitsuru had belittled him in the past.
He remembered when they first met, when Mitsuru kicked the shit out of him to prove who the toughest guy in school was.
He remembered all the times Mitsuru put him down whilst they were on the island, giving him lip and reminding him of all his mistakes.
He remembered the time he got his ass kicked trying to steal Mitsuru a fresh batch of cigarettes, only to find out they were the wrong brand.
He remembered the time when Mitsuru saved his ass when he got cornered by some thugs from outside town.
He remembered when they took over that bowling alley for the boss, how he returned the favour by bottling a mother fucker who almost jumped Mitsuru from behind.
He remembered the time Mitsuru brought over a bottle of whisky he stole, and they celebrated by drinking the lot in one night.
He remembered... SSshank!
Ryuhei gasped, his eyes widening and face going pale, a sharp and intense pain deep in his chest. He'd glance downwards, realising then that in all the chaos, Mitsuru had managed to pull his dagger out and sink it between his ribs.
In that moment, all the hate and anger in his eyes began to dissipate, the hand clinging onto that sickle weakening as it slipped from his wrist. For the first time in a while, that inner voice of his that had been goading him on all this time had nothing to say. No point in false bravado at this point, not like it ever did him any good to begin with.
He'd slump his head forward against Mitsuru's chest, his legs giving up on him as he reached up to grip his brother's shoulder, coughing blood before slowly looking up at him.
"Hh... Heh, th-that wasn't so hard now... Was it?" he'd stutter, forcing a weak smile before coughing again, his tight grip of Mitsuru's shoulder loosening as he slumped down to his knees. He'd take another deep, gargled breath, spitting blood onto the floor before then slumping onto his side, laying sprawled on the ground with a slowly growing puddle of crimson forming around his crumpled form.
His chest heaved as he breathed his last few breaths, his vision fading, eyes staring blindly into the sky... And then, the life left him.
B10 - RYUHEI SASAGAWA - DECEASED
15 STUDENTS REMAIN
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
Ryuhei Sasagawa, the man who accidentally orchestrated Yoshitoki's death, was dead, slain by Mitsuru Numai, a man Ryuhei had called a friend only 24 beforehand. Such was the power of government fear-mongering and propaganda. It had the ability to split bonds that had been forged in fire, turning friends against friends and brothers against brothers. The blood of brothers stained not only this island, but everywhere the hands of the government had touched, the lasting legacies of both the Great Dictator and his government. If Yoshitoki could think rationally, he would have no doubt taken the killing of Sasagawa, no matter how much of a dirtbag he was, as further irrefutable proof of the government's misdeeds. No man, no matter how much of an arrogant schemer he was, deserved to pitted in a kill-or-be-killed situation against his friends.
However, if there was one thing Yoshitoki was not at the moment, it was rational. Instead, the primal depths of his brain could only think about how blurry his vision was, how pained his chest was, and how much he missed being able to breathe properly.
As he convulsed on the ground, his eyes were able to make out one shape, one of the most important shapes in his entire life: the shape of Shuya Nanahara, from his perpetually wild hair to the worn-down Keds he always wore, hunched over his prone, twitching form. He looked up into Shuya's eyes, and while their outline was blurry, he saw the concern and the fear embedded within them. He heard Shuya accuse the Kiriyama family as a whole, and realized something grave: Shuya would never do that. Shuya was kind, Shuya was trusting. He wasn't a paranoid witch hunter.
Through the pain of suffocation, he found it within himself to speak, some kind of iron will pushing back his inevitable death long enough for him to say what was necessary.
"Shu... ya..." he gasped, "don't... change."
He wheezed, desperately trying to inhale more air that just wouldn't come. He powered on anyway, knowing that what he said would forever remain in Shuya's memory.
"Don't... let the... dream... die."
Another gasp. They were getting shorter and shorter now.
"S-Stick it... to the man... for me, a-alright?"
He reached out. His hand found Shuya's wrist, gripping it as tightly as he could manage. In that moment, so many things flashed through his mind. He wondered if Noriko was doing alright. He wondered how Kiriyama would react to the news of his Gang killing each other off. He wondered how the rest of the kids at the orphanage were doing.
Yoshitoki coughed, sucking in another gasp of air that didn't do anything but prevent his death for another precious few seconds. He knew that seconds were all he had left.
"Never... give in... t-to them..."
His vision faded entirely. Everything was fading. It was all going by so fast and so slowly. He sucked in another breath. Something deep inside him told him it would be his last.
"...no m-matter w-what... Shu..."
His last sentence would forever remain unfinished.
B7 - Yoshitoki Kuninobu: DECEASED
14 Students Remaining
However, if there was one thing Yoshitoki was not at the moment, it was rational. Instead, the primal depths of his brain could only think about how blurry his vision was, how pained his chest was, and how much he missed being able to breathe properly.
As he convulsed on the ground, his eyes were able to make out one shape, one of the most important shapes in his entire life: the shape of Shuya Nanahara, from his perpetually wild hair to the worn-down Keds he always wore, hunched over his prone, twitching form. He looked up into Shuya's eyes, and while their outline was blurry, he saw the concern and the fear embedded within them. He heard Shuya accuse the Kiriyama family as a whole, and realized something grave: Shuya would never do that. Shuya was kind, Shuya was trusting. He wasn't a paranoid witch hunter.
Through the pain of suffocation, he found it within himself to speak, some kind of iron will pushing back his inevitable death long enough for him to say what was necessary.
"Shu... ya..." he gasped, "don't... change."
He wheezed, desperately trying to inhale more air that just wouldn't come. He powered on anyway, knowing that what he said would forever remain in Shuya's memory.
"Don't... let the... dream... die."
Another gasp. They were getting shorter and shorter now.
"S-Stick it... to the man... for me, a-alright?"
He reached out. His hand found Shuya's wrist, gripping it as tightly as he could manage. In that moment, so many things flashed through his mind. He wondered if Noriko was doing alright. He wondered how Kiriyama would react to the news of his Gang killing each other off. He wondered how the rest of the kids at the orphanage were doing.
Yoshitoki coughed, sucking in another gasp of air that didn't do anything but prevent his death for another precious few seconds. He knew that seconds were all he had left.
"Never... give in... t-to them..."
His vision faded entirely. Everything was fading. It was all going by so fast and so slowly. He sucked in another breath. Something deep inside him told him it would be his last.
"...no m-matter w-what... Shu..."
His last sentence would forever remain unfinished.
B7 - Yoshitoki Kuninobu: DECEASED
14 Students Remaining
-
Dogs231
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Shūya held Yoshitoki above the ground, his skin colder, his breathing harsher — statements applicable to both, one more than the other — and desperately tried not to think about what would happen next. Anything was better. It happened so quickly, and yet to him, it still felt slow to the point of agony. The glacial pace crushed his nerves to dust and ground his soul to pieces as he watched his friend gulp like a fish on land.
Yoshitoki's lungs grasped for air, his hands for something intangible, his words for Shūya's heart; they begged him, in so many words, to stay the same. In return, though, he said nothing — no declarations, lyrics, or other such things — and just stood, watching through empty eyes — useless spheres of vitreous humor — that didn't move or see.
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
It was too late, he knew. He wanted to think that he was strong, but a person's strength had limits; here, at this moment, Shūya realized that he had reached that point. He felt the tendrils of darkness paw at the edges of his being; it was as though a black hole had sprouted at the center of his soul, rippling outward as if it were the aftermath of a stone's throw into a lake.
Shūya had a lot of things once. Gifts. God, he supposed, had given that to him. Now, he realized how many of them had faded away, torn from him; his friends, his family, his freedom, his life. At that moment, he lost another thing; the core of himself, the idea that who Shūya thought he was was who Shūya was, the identity he had clung to before.
He wasn't a revolutionary. His words did not strike fear into the hearts of soldiers and government officials. His acts of resistance were meaningless, simple charades that would never amount to anything substantial. He knew now why the government had chosen to allow him to continue after his multiple stunts earlier; he wasn't worth the effort it would take to kill him or to crush his little concert.
He wasn't a rockstar. His lyrics did not reach into the hearts of the populace. His voice would never echo through history or produce monumental change. He could sing, and sing, and sing until his voice broke and his throat stung, but it would be nothing more significant than the calls of the birds in the trees.
He looked down at the fading, cooling corpse — which, at some point, had once been Yoshitoki Kuninobu (Male Student No. 7) — and then wept, for a long time, words echoing in his ears from the outside. They formed phrases like "battle royale," "survival of the fittest," and "no escape," but none of them meant anything to him anymore. Perhaps once, but not now.
He wailed like a siren, gutted on the ocean shore, bleeding on the pale sand, cooling in the hot sun. For a while, that continued, and then something happened, and the sound changed. He did not recognize what or when, but something in him had changed. Shūya had, in the end, broken on the wheel of the program; his every hope was smashed, like a bug below a person's foot or a person's bones below a tank's treads, in the way that one could crush so many other things.
And in the end, it turned to laughter, broken in every conceivable way.
Yoshitoki's lungs grasped for air, his hands for something intangible, his words for Shūya's heart; they begged him, in so many words, to stay the same. In return, though, he said nothing — no declarations, lyrics, or other such things — and just stood, watching through empty eyes — useless spheres of vitreous humor — that didn't move or see.
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
It was too late, he knew. He wanted to think that he was strong, but a person's strength had limits; here, at this moment, Shūya realized that he had reached that point. He felt the tendrils of darkness paw at the edges of his being; it was as though a black hole had sprouted at the center of his soul, rippling outward as if it were the aftermath of a stone's throw into a lake.
Shūya had a lot of things once. Gifts. God, he supposed, had given that to him. Now, he realized how many of them had faded away, torn from him; his friends, his family, his freedom, his life. At that moment, he lost another thing; the core of himself, the idea that who Shūya thought he was was who Shūya was, the identity he had clung to before.
He wasn't a revolutionary. His words did not strike fear into the hearts of soldiers and government officials. His acts of resistance were meaningless, simple charades that would never amount to anything substantial. He knew now why the government had chosen to allow him to continue after his multiple stunts earlier; he wasn't worth the effort it would take to kill him or to crush his little concert.
He wasn't a rockstar. His lyrics did not reach into the hearts of the populace. His voice would never echo through history or produce monumental change. He could sing, and sing, and sing until his voice broke and his throat stung, but it would be nothing more significant than the calls of the birds in the trees.
He looked down at the fading, cooling corpse — which, at some point, had once been Yoshitoki Kuninobu (Male Student No. 7) — and then wept, for a long time, words echoing in his ears from the outside. They formed phrases like "battle royale," "survival of the fittest," and "no escape," but none of them meant anything to him anymore. Perhaps once, but not now.
He wailed like a siren, gutted on the ocean shore, bleeding on the pale sand, cooling in the hot sun. For a while, that continued, and then something happened, and the sound changed. He did not recognize what or when, but something in him had changed. Shūya had, in the end, broken on the wheel of the program; his every hope was smashed, like a bug below a person's foot or a person's bones below a tank's treads, in the way that one could crush so many other things.
And in the end, it turned to laughter, broken in every conceivable way.